The Thing That Makes Me Smile The Most
by GoddessofSnark
Summary: Marley's dead, and now he has to save the one he loves most from following in his fate. Slashy undertones, lots of longing, and goes from before the play until after it, just putting it out here to see what y'all think.


Authors Notes: This is, for all intents and purposes going to be a full length novel. I've already got the majority of the first half of the book written, and am putting it out here for some feedback as to what you all happen to think of it. It contains some very slashy themes, but it's very much longing slash-nothing actually will happen, but you can guarantee that Marley's going to constantly be dwelling on it-that's the whole plot of the fic, Marley's afraid that crooge, the man he loves, will be forced to suffer as he is. I'd like to take this time also to thank a number of people-First of all, Aloysius Gigl, the most AMAZING actor on the planet who made Marley become my favorite literary character of all time, Michael Unger for directing the most amazing version of the book made into a play, Jason Bowcutt on whom much of the young Scrooge is based on, as well as everyone involved in McCarter's production of A Christmas Carol every year-without this amazing play, this fic would not have been written, thank you all. The title also comes from a song in the production-the Christmas carol that all the children are singing, if I can remember the words, I'll include them, but all I can remember is "harken to the something something" and then each verse ends with "but the thing that makes me smile the most is Christmas Morning each year..."

I was dead, I knew that. The last thing I had remembered was that He was there, and that I was coughing violently, wishing to die. And then He told me that I was the last person He had left, that I was His only friend. I hadn't wanted to live Him then, not after He told me that, I wanted to stay right where I was, and be there for Him. But over my head loomed the angel of death, and I had no choice but to go, to follow it to wherever it would take me. And then, suddenly I was there. Wherever exactly there was.

It was dark, and black, and utterly devoid of anything resembling life. Then again, I was somewhere in the ream of the dead, but there was nothing around me except for the ever present black which seemed to close in on me. I walked hesitantly forward, towards a spot where the black lightened to a dark brownish gray, to see if there is anything, anything at all besides emptiness around me.

It seems to take forever to reach the end, to reach the light, as if every time I step forward the light steps backward. After a time, minutes, hours, days, I'm not sure how long, I reach it, finding it to be nothing more than a stub of a candle in a bracket, I assumed to be on a wall, but there was no wall to see. I had no sooner reached for it than a deep, booming voice startled me sending me into the air. "Jacob A. Marley" It echoed. The voice seemed to call from all around me, above me, below me, everywhere. "Welcome, to your personal hell."

With those words I was falling, plummeting quickly downward through the sky. As I fell, the earth came into view, and then England, and then suddenly I was in the middle of London, on a little side street not too far from where my counting house was. I looked around me at the snow covered ground, and the barren streets. It had to be Christmas day. I was only-there-for a few hours, much shorter than I had feared.

"Jacob Marley," The booming voice had returned, and I searched for its source. "You will not find me, so don't waste your effort to look for me. You are to walk this earth for eternity, seeing the good in other mens hearts, the love that you never felt yourself." I frowned, I knew love, I knew it far too well, but did he know that? "To make this all the more a form of punishment, you are to wear the chains that you forged in life, link by link, yard by yard, cash box by cash box, so now, think of the others, not only of your own greed." As he spoke, I felt my arms grow heavy, as chains made of solid gold materialized around me, locked not by padlocks, but cash boxes, and ledger books, books with my cramped handwriting in them. "To the people of the city, the people of the world, you are nothing more than a spectre, then haven't a clue of your existence, you are naught more than a shadow on a wall to them, nothing more, and nothing less." With that, the voice stopped, leaving me feeling strangely empty and alone.

I trudged the path to my counting house, testing the weight of the chains around me. God, were they heavy, I had long known the weight of gold, knowing it's precise weight as to judge if a coin was pure gold or not, and these chains were by far solid gold, weighing me down. The path to Abchurch Lane, where the office was on, was a familiar one, as I had often used this street as a through way between my favorite tavern to get a bite to eat and the counting house.

The familiar whitewashed walls seemed an odd comfort as I looked on. The sign still read Scrooge and Marley, He obviously had not had the chance to cross my name off the sign yet. Seeing my name up there made me smile though, for the first time in far too long, it reminded me that so far, I had not yet been forgotten about. I walked up to the door, and found myself unable to open it, due to my lack of substantial form. What was it that I had always heard about in the ghost stories that my mother had told me? That ghosts could walk through walls? Well, it was worth a try, nonetheless.

Cautiously, I stepped up to the door, and walked through it, finding myself in the familiar interior of the counting house. He was there, as always, diligently bent over a book, making sure that the sums totaled, methodically calculating interest, making sure to earn every last farthing He could. I took my customary seat in the tall chair behind my handsome desk, directly opposite of Him.

He was probably the only man hard at work on Christmas Day. I admit, I was the one that started with it, He used to take the day off to be with his dear younger sister, but I worked. Holidays meant nothing to me. My father had been Christian, my mother Jewish, as a result, we celebrated no holidays, Hannuka passed with my mother cooking latkes, and Christmas passed with a good goose, nothing more. Birthdays were much the same, a wish for happiness, and if I was lucky, a small trinket. New years went by without even a glance back at the year that had just ended. And as I grew, I worked through every holiday, Christmas, Hannuka, Easter, Passover, they were all just more days on the calendar as far as I was concerned.

I looked at my desk, it was the same as I had left it the day before. The single ledger book left in disarray after He had sent me home. I hadn't wanted to go, but He told me that I should, and would go home and rest if I wanted to live another day. I suppose He could sense my immanent departure better than I could, but even when I went home, He stayed here, hard at work.

I reached for a pen to finish the work that had still to be done, until I realized that like I could not open a door, I could not write as well. So instead I sat there, watching Him. He had changed so much in the years that I had known Him, He had grown to be far from the vibrant youth that I could remember him to be, but then again, I'm sure that I had grown in much the same way. With age comes wisdom though.

I leaned back in the chair, expecting to hear it's familiar groan of protest. I had it far longer than it was expected to last, since I had been an apprentice in this very building. How many years had it been? Far too many to count, thirty years at least. I had started here, working for old Fezziwig when I had scarcely grown out of boyhood. He had started the same way, however He had worked in a different house, old Fezziwig had a venerable empire under his belt. At least four counting houses that I knew of in London.

We had met each other only at Fezziwig's grand Christmas parties, held in his main warehouse each year. The products were all stacked high in the corners along the walls, and he brought in music, and there was dancing, and partying all night long. And we had met, the both of us being the outsiders, the loners lurking along the walls, watching as the others gaily celebrated the holidays with their lovers, and the two of us, with no one to love. He had someone though, although I never did, He had Belle, I had only work to comfort me, I had a nice warm bed to welcome me home, an empty bed, but a warm one at least.

It hadn't taken old Fezziwig long to realize what an unstoppable team we were, however, and before long my partner, the other young man who was apprenticing with me, Charlie Hawthorne was gone, replaced by Him, and so, the partnership of Scrooge and Marley was born. Both of us, Fezziwig's most trusted clerks, the two most promising lads in his entire business. He trusted us enough to all but force the youngest of his daughters on me, Charlotte, the most annoying woman I have ever met in my life, or unlike as it is now, at one of his Christmas parties.

Fezziwig hadn't stood a chance against us though, Him and I. Once it was in our minds that we were no longer going to be apprentices, clerks, to anyone, there was no stopping us. It was I who had originally come up with the idea, but it was Him who I could have not done it without. Before long, we had enough money to buy out the Counting House that we worked at. We had no notion to buy the rest of them, just the one, but Fezziwig naturally refused, claiming that his work was his life, and without his work, he would not live. It didn't take him long to run himself bankrupt, however, a process sped along my Him and myself, I have no clue what happened to the man since then. He was no doubt dead, being far from young when I had worked for him.

The bell tolled nine, signaling His usual closing hour, and He finally lifted the pen from the paper and closed the book He was in, after making sure that the ink was fully dry. He looked right at me, and opened His mouth as if to say something before shutting it again as He fetched his coat and scarf from the coat rack behind Him. He turned back towards my desk with an almost wistful look in his eye. "It's going to take a while to get used to seeing that desk empty." He said before opening the door and walking out.

There was a strange pain in my chest. He had looked sad when He said that. I never once thought that He lacked a heart, but I had never once seen Him express any emotion since that night when I watched as Belle left Him for good. I wanted nothing more than to let Him know that the desk wasn't empty, that I was there, but I knew that He wouldn't notice, it had already been proven to me that I had no choice but to watch, a spectator to life around me.

I followed Him down the almost barren London streets, the only people out being the ones rushing to and from Christmas parties, or church, until He got home. The house was now His, I had willed Him everything that I had owned. As it was, He already had a room in it, the rest of the building besides our respective suites was let out for office spaces and apartments. He paused at the doorway that had been mine, and opened it slightly. The room was the same, the large bed looking inviting as ever, not a single thing had been moved from it's spot, besides the fact that the bed still lay unmade. I thought of docking Mrs. Dilber the housekeeper's wages before I realized that no one had probably been in the room since my passing.

No sooner had I followed Him to His room than I felt myself being yanked upwards, my feet loosing their footing as I spiraled towards the sky, straight through the roof, and again, I saw the city from a bird's-eye view, followed by all of England, followed by the Earth before finding myself once again in the inky blackness. However, this time, a light quickly appeared, and with it a small boy with a shock of bright red hair and too many freckles to fit on his face. "G'night Mr. Marley, merry Christmas to you sir." He said, walking along, the tattered coattails of the greatcoat that was much to long on him trailing the ground behind him.

I hurried along behind him, eager to stay within the light, my chains rattling as I walked. I tried to adjust them to spread the weight out more evenly as they started to cut into me, and the young boy laughed. "Better get used to your chains real fast, you won't be getting out of them too soon, I don't think."


End file.
